


The Gift

by Gruoch



Series: In the merry month of June [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: & it's not necessarily the baby, Gritty Domestic Bliss, crack-lite, disastrous family holiday gatherings, iron(grand)dad, overwhelmed grad student dad Peter Parker, retired family man Tony Stark, there is an agent of chaos in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22482370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gruoch/pseuds/Gruoch
Summary: “Dad!” Morgan says, bursting into the room. “Dad—the baby’s on the ceiling.”“The baby’s on the what now?” Tony asks, getting up to follow her into the living room.Morgan points up at the ceiling, where baby June is happily crouched upside-down above their heads, offering them a gummy grin.Tony looks up at her, hands on his hips. June looks back down at him and babbles nonsensically, clearly delighted with her fresh perspective on the world.“Hm,” Tony says, rubbing a finger over his mustache as he assesses the situation. “Alright, no problem. I’ll get her down—go grab me a broom.”“Dad!” Morgan says, scandalized. “You can’t just whack the baby off the ceiling with a broom.”**Or, Peter stresses, Tony schemes, and baby Jones-Parker keeps everyone on their toes.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: In the merry month of June [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855018
Comments: 137
Kudos: 781
Collections: Avidreaders Avengers completed faves, Avidreaders Spiderman completed faves, Peter Parker is a Good Dad, ellie marvel fics - read





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with more old man Tony for all the lovely folks who enjoyed my first grandpa Tony fic. This is...very very silly but hopefully entertaining.
> 
> Credit for baby June's name goes to the brilliant sagemb.
> 
> And yes, this fic is set at Christmas. And yes, it's the end of January. This feels a bit like the fiction writing equivalent of leaving your Christmas tree up until Valentine's Day. My muse is fickle, y'all.

Mid-afternoon on a bright Tuesday in autumn, Tony is enjoying his favorite retirement pastime—pretending to be doing vitally important work while actually napping on the couch in his office—when his siesta is abruptly interrupted.

“Dad!” Morgan says, bursting into the room. “Dad—the baby’s on the ceiling.”

“The baby’s on the what now?” Tony asks, getting up to follow her into the living room, where she had been keeping an eye on Peter and Michelle's baby.

Morgan points up at the ceiling, where baby June is happily crouched upside-down above their heads, offering them a gummy grin.

Tony looks up at her, hands on his hips. June looks back down at him and babbles nonsensically, clearly delighted with her fresh perspective on the world.

“Hm,” Tony says, rubbing a finger over his mustache as he assesses the situation. “Alright, no problem. I’ll get her down—go grab me a broom.”

“Dad!” Morgan says, scandalized. “You can’t just whack the baby off the ceiling with a broom.”

“I was joking. Yeesh,” Tony says, going into the dining room and returning a moment later with a chair. “Why am I the only one with a sense of humor around here?” 

He sets the chair down directly under June and stands on it, reaching for her. 

“Come here, Junie Joo,” he coaxes. “Come here to papa, you darling little gremlin, before he falls off this chair and breaks something. ‘Atta girl.”

He peels June off the ceiling and hands her to Morgan before hopping down from the chair.

“Right,” Tony says, squinting at June. “Well. This is a fascinating new development.”

“This is going to kill Peter,” Morgan replies with morbid glee, while June gnaws on a handful of her hair. “Grad school has completely destroyed his sanity. I saw him drop a piece of toast butter-side down on the floor a couple weeks ago, and he laid down next to it and cried for like fifteen minutes straight. This is _literally_ going to kill him. Can I _please_ be the one to tell him?”

Tony raises a finger in warning and points it at her. “Absolutely not. No one’s gonna tell him. We can’t let him find out about this until his dissertation defense is over.”

Morgan makes a little incredulous scoffing sound. “Dad. June. Was on. The _ceiling._ How do you hide that from Peter?”

Tony shrugs. “We’re just gonna have to get a little...creative. That’s all. Give me an hour—I’ll come up with something.”

***

It actually takes him closer to three hours to come up with something, but he’d had to take a couple of extended breaks from his work to help Morgan coax June down from the walls and ceiling again, the toddler apparently hellbent on fully exploring the bounds of these exciting new frontiers. 

But after a few test runs, he thinks he’s come up with at least a temporary solution, just in time for Michelle to arrive to pick June up.

“You look as tired as I feel,” Michelle greets Tony at the door. “Was she difficult today?”

“She’s always a pleasure,” Tony replies. “She was just giving me and Morgan the run around today, is all. She’s…very active these days.”

“God, you’re telling me,” Michelle says, sounding exhausted. “I was so excited for her to start crawling, and then walking, and now I’m missing those days when she was immobile. She gets into everything now.”

“She sure does. In fact, we may need to make some adjustments to our baby-proofing." 

Michelle narrows her eyes at Tony. “Oh, no. What happened?”

As if on cue, June comes crawling into the room upside-down on the ceiling, while a harried-looking Morgan follows underneath with her arms outstretched, ready to catch her should she fall.

“Mama,” June squeals in delight, pointing a chubby hand at Michelle.

“Uh, _that_ happened,” Tony says.

“Hm,” Michelle says, planting her hands on her hips, her lips pursed as she takes this scene in. She nods once after a brief moment, as if accepting this new reality, and then turns to Tony. 

“Alright—ordinarily I’m all about honesty and telling the truth, but we absolutely _cannot_ let Peter know about this until his dissertation is done,” she says briskly. “He’s already barely holding it together. He’s had three bathtub breakdowns this week alone. This is a man who feels crushing guilt about the fact that June inherited his ears. Combined with the massive stress he’s already under, _this_ —“ she points a finger up at June—“will definitely kill him.”

“Michelle, my love, we are all of the same mind. And not to worry,” Tony says, producing a pair of little red and gold booties and mittens. “I’m already on it.”

“So here’s the deal,” he continues, once they’ve plucked June from the ceiling. “These nifty little accessories—“ he slips the booties and mittens on June while she giggles and squirms in Michelle’s lap—“should keep her grounded.”

Michelle raises an eyebrow. “ _Should?_ ”

Tony makes a face. “Well. To be completely honest here, Pete and I have never really quite figured out how his whole sticky thing works. Our best hypothesis is that it has something to do with increasing the flux of intermolecular attractive forces in order to increase the coefficient of friction between a surface and himself, like some kind of extremely powerful Van der Waals force, but that really doesn’t explain how…”

He trails off, catching sight of Michelle’s stony, impatient expression. It’s remarkably similar to some of the looks Pepper has cast in his direction over their many years together. Tony clears his throat and dismissively waves a hand.

“Anyway, the science isn’t that important. The point is—these booties and mittens should act like sticky baby Teflon. She won’t be able to do any wall-crawling while they’re on. Baby is safe, Pete doesn’t have a complete mental breakdown and is able to finish his dissertation on schedule. Bim, bam, boom.”

“Okay. I like the safe baby part,” Michelle says. “But how do we sell the whole ‘wearing mittens and booties indoors around the clock’ thing to Peter without arousing suspicion?”

“We just tell him the floor is drafty and they’re keeping her precious fingers and toes clean and warm while she crawls around. Pete will eat that up. He’s the kind of parent who calls the pediatrician in a panic when his child has the hiccups. He’d wrap her in bubble wrap, if he didn’t have a crippling fear that she’d suffocate.”

“Very true,” Michelle muses, starting to smile. “Okay, I think this might actually work.”

“We really just need it to work till January. Once Peter finishes defending his dissertation and isn’t hovering on the edge of total mental collapse, we can figure out a way to break the news to him gently,” Tony reasons. “And it _should_ work.”

He has every reason to be confident. He successfully invented _time travel_ after all. 

He looks at June. She looks back at him, smiling and blowing a spit bubble, waving one of her red mittened hands, and Tony feels a little quiver of doubt somewhere deep in the back of his mind.

***

A few weeks pass without any more wall-crawling incidents, and the little nagging doubt in the back of Tony’s mind quiets down a bit.

Still, he’s the kind of man who always likes to have contingencies prepared, which is why he’s standing on the top of a stepladder screwing an acrylic plate over one of the recessed ceiling lights in his living room when Rhodey comes over to watch some football.

“Oh-ho, there’s my baby girl,” Rhodey croons as he walks into the room, picking up June from where she plays on the floor near the ladder. “What’s that crazy old man doing up on that ladder, huh, June Bug? The place still smells like Thanksgiving turkey and he’s already putting up Christmas decorations, is that it?”

“First of all, it is perfectly socially acceptable to put up Christmas decorations as soon as Thanksgiving is over,” Tony replies. “And secondly, I’m up this ladder because I’m baby-proofing the walls and ceiling.”

“Ah,” Rhodey says, sitting down in an armchair and bouncing June on his knee. “I thought you went a little over-the-top with the baby-proofing when you had Morgan, but now I see you’ve completely gone off the deep end. When is Pepper having you committed?”

Tony doesn’t bother verbally replying for probably the first time in his life. He just gets down from the stepladder and plucks June off Rhodey’s knee. He climbs back up the stepladder with baby in tow, takes her booties off, turns her upside down, then lifts her up and presses her bare feet to the ceiling. 

He lets go. June dangles upside-down, chirping delightedly.

“Hm,” Rhodey says, crossing a leg over his knee and settling back into the armchair. “Okay. You know what really weirds me out about this? The fact that I’m not weirded out at all. The fact that I’m looking at a baby dangling by her feet from the ceiling, and I’m thinking, yeah, I’ve seen stranger things than this.”

“Life’s funny like that,” Tony agrees, retrieving June from the ceiling before she can go crawling off somewhere and tugging the booties back on her feet.

Rhodey gets out of the chair and takes June from him, holding her up at arm’s length and examining her while she giggles.

“You know, when you told me you were planning on watching Pete and Michelle’s baby while they worked, I had a feeling something bizarre would happen,” he says. “You’re a magnet for weirdness.”

“That explains why we’re friends,” Tony says, returning his attention to baby proofing the recessed light.

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “So what—are these magic non-stick booties and mittens or something?” 

“Bingo.”

“Iron Man colors, of course. Did you make her a pair of War Machine ones?”

“No one wants to put their baby in War Machine merch,” Tony scoffs, finishing putting in the final screw and climbing back down the ladder.

“Says who?” Rhodey shoots back, setting June back down on the floor and returning to the armchair. “How’s Pete handling all of this?”

“He’s not.”

Rhodey snorts, shaking his head. “Well, that’s not surprising. I still don’t know how he’s survived this long, trying to juggle grad school and work and parenting a baby, on top of the whole superhero gig. As if parenting wasn’t stressful enough, now his baby’s climbing the walls.”

“No, I mean—he doesn’t know yet,” Tony clarifies. “We haven’t told him.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “You haven’t told him?”

“Absolutely not. It’s like you said—he’s surviving on sheer force of will right now,” Tony says, bending down to pry a piece of lint out of June’s mouth. “He’s in the homestretch. He doesn’t need to fall flat on his face when he’s five feet from the finish line, so we’re keeping this under wraps until after he defends his dissertation next month.”

“Pretty big thing to keep under wraps.”

“I’ve got this completely under control,” Tony insists.

“Sure you do. This is definitely going to end well,” Rhodey says dryly, turning the TV on to the football game. “I am really looking forward to Christmas this year. I’ll be sure to bring some popcorn with my green bean casserole.”

“Hm,” Tony hums scornfully, trying to quash that little doubt stirring in the back of his mind again.

**

He never quite gets completely rid of that doubt, but it does slip into the background as November passes into December, buried under all the shopping and decorating and heavy carbs that pile on as the holiday season ramps up.

By the time the week of Christmas rolls around, the doubt has been fully forced into a deep hibernation, Tony having embraced the holiday magic-making with the single-minded passion of a zealot, cheerfully ignoring Pepper’s gentle suggestions that _maybe that’s enough tinsel, Tony,_ and _no, honey, we really don’t need a tree in every room of the house,_ and _I love you, but I will strangle you with that string of lights if you make us listen to one more Christmas song._

“It’s Junie’s first Christmas,” Tony argues whenever Morgan and Pepper tell him to tone it down a little as he decorates the lake house.

“She’s a baby. She’s not even gonna remember it,” Morgan says, holding yet another box of ornaments Tony’s made her drag out of the garage. 

“No, she’s not,” Tony agrees, hanging up another wreath. “But Peter and Michelle will, so it needs to be perfect for them. Now hand me those ornaments, Scrooge. We’ve only got about an hour or so before everyone starts showing up, and we gotta finish decking these halls.”

“We could see the Christmas lights from five miles away,” Rhodey tells him later, when he arrives at the lake house with Happy and May. “You could probably power an Iron Man suit with the amount of energy you’re using to light this place up. Or maybe a small city.”

“I, for one, think it’s festive,” Tony says, taking their coats. “Go big or go home, I say. Balls to the wall. Christmas only comes once a year.”

“Thank god,” Rhodey replies, sharing a sympathetic look with Pepper.

The doorbell rings again a couple of hours later.

“That’ll be Pete and Michelle,” Tony say, trotting down the stairs wearing a brand new Christmas sweater. “Pep, honey—get the camera ready. I need to capture the _exact_ moment Junie sees the tree for the first time.”

“Ugly Christmas sweaters haven’t been cool for like ten years, dad,” Morgan says as he passes her on the way to answer the door.

“Thanks for the fashion tip, but I’m wearing it un-ironically, you Grinch-y little asshole,” Tony replies, pinching her cheek affectionately before heading into the foyer, ignoring her indignant squawk. 

He opens the door, revealing Peter and Michelle waiting on the other side with baby June bouncing in Peter’s arms, her little face beaming under a fuzzy hat as she waves mittened hands at Tony.

“Hey-ho, what do we have here? One-and-a-half wise women and a scruffy dope,” Tony greets. He looks Peter up and down with an expression of exaggerated surprise. “My god, I really can’t believe it—you’re actually here on time for a holiday family gathering for once. Somebody pinch me.”

“Ha ha,” Peter replies sardonically, setting his battered suitcase down inside the door. “Yes, I’m here. MJ said if I didn’t take a break from Spider-Man till the end of the year, she was going to divorce me. It was a very serious threat.”

“Good for her,” Tony says, winking at Michelle.

“Wow, you went even crazier with the decorations this year. This place looks Santa puked all over it. It’s _awesome,_ ” Peter says while June babbles enthusiastically and reaches for the lights hanging over the door frame. “Junie loves it, too. Aw, look at her—she’s so happy. Man, I’m gonna have to take like a million pictures. Her first Christmas—I can’t handle it. This is perfect.”

“I knew you’d appreciate it,” Tony says, feeling pretty pleased with himself. The pleasure turns to concern as he watches Peter hobble into the foyer. “Why are you walking like you’re smuggling a watermelon between your knees?”

“Oh, I messed something up really bad yesterday,” Peter says breezily.

“You messed _something_ up?” Tony repeats, eyebrows raised. “What did you mess up?”

Peter shrugs. “I dunno—I’m getting my doctorate in chemical engineering. I don’t know anything about human anatomy. Something in the tailbone region. Sitting in the car on the ride up here was _excruciating._ Potholes everywhere.”

Tony frowns at Peter. “How’d you do that? I thought you just said you were on a break from Spider-Man-ing.”

“I am. I slipped and fell on some icy stairs at the library yesterday,” Peter explains. “I had my laptop in one hand and a four dollar coffee in the other. It was either drop my laptop and my coffee and save myself, or save my laptop and coffee and bust my ass. So I chose to bust my ass, obviously.”

Tony turns towards Michelle, jerking a thumb in Peter’s direction. “How did this idiot convince you to marry him?”

“I was blinded by the abs and biceps, I guess,” Michelle replies with a shrug. “I’m only human.”

“Look, my notes for my dissertation defense are on my laptop. I hadn’t had a chance to back up an updated copy because the wifi at the library was being wonky. It was a necessary sacrifice. My ass will heal, but if something had happened to my notes, I would literally be dead right now,” Peter says. 

Tony shakes his head. “And the coffee, Peter? You couldn’t sacrifice the _coffee?_ ”

“It was _four dollars,_ ” Peter stresses. “I know money doesn’t mean anything to you, but four dollars could make or break our budget at the end of the month. And anyway it’s kinda funny, too—this is like the worst injury I’ve had in six months and it’s not even Spider-Man related.”

“Hilarious,” Tony says flatly. 

“You wanna see the bruise? It’s seriously gnarly. Spans both cheeks, hip-to-hip. Looks kinda like Mickey Mouse ears.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna pass. I have a negative desire to see your scrawny little ass. Get out of here. There’s food in the kitchen, and Happy stocked the fridge with beer. Should be cold now. Leave the baby with May and go relax while you can,” Tony says, ushering Peter out of the foyer before turning to gather Michelle up into a hug.

“The booties and mittens? They’re not working anymore,” Michelle murmurs in his ear as she returns the embrace.

Tony leans back, startled. “No?”

Michelle gives a little shake of her head, her mouth pressed into a grim, tight line. “She figured out how to take them off yesterday. She’s going through a phase where she wants to be naked all the time. I can’t keep anything on her. And then I’ve had Peter to deal with, too. I’ve watched him drink five six-packs of Red Bull in the past forty-eight hours. I’m honestly not sure how he’s even alive and coherent right now. It’s been a nightmare.” 

“Okay, this is perfectly fixable,” Tony assures her. “You keep Pete busy while Happy and May keep Junie under control, and I’ll whip up a new toddler-proof design. I just need like an hour. Shouldn’t be hard to do, right?”

As if in blatant mockery of his words, June comes crawling sideways across the wall into the foyer, naked as the day she was born and happily babbling. Happy comes puffing after her a beat later, peeling her off the wall before she can escape to the ceiling.

“I swear I only took my eye off her for a second, and she’d stripped and disappeared,” he huffs. “She’s like a little Houdini or something.”

“Okay, maybe we should just tell Peter,” Michelle says, her expression tightening with worry. “You know—while we have the whole family together. Maybe if he sees that everyone’s cool with this, he won’t freak out as bad. He’s tough—he can handle it with a little help.”

Before Tony can reply to that suggestion, Morgan comes around the corner, looking both disgusted and amused at the same time.

“Dad, you need to like, call a therapist to come to the house or something,” she says, gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. “I just asked Pete if he’s ready for his dissertation defense, and now he’s in there puking in the sink. So gross.”

Tony and Michelle exchange a look.

“Or maybe we don’t tell him, and keep the deception going for a few more weeks,” Michelle amends.

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, running a hand over his beard. “Okay. We still got this. Give me a few minutes to get things prepared.”

**

Tony heads into the living room fifteen minutes later with a bottle of ginger ale and a plan.

He sits down in one of the armchairs across from the sofa where Michelle sits reading a book, her eyes occasionally furtively darting up to scan the walls and ceilings. Peter lies curled up in the space beside her, watching some cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie on the TV with a slightly vacant, hollow-eyed look.

“Hey, buddy. Feeling better?” Tony asks him.

“Yeah, I feel great now,” Peter says, which might have been more believable if he didn’t still have a sickly grey pallor. “Sorry about the mess in the sink.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re feeling okay now,” Tony says, offering him the bottle. “Here. Drink that. It’ll help settle your stomach.”

“Oh, thanks, but I’m good,” Peter replies, shaking his head. “I’m not really a fan of ginger ale.”

Tony frowns, his plan unraveling. “Since when?” 

“Since forever.”

“Well, just drink it anyway,” Tony insists, holding the bottle out again. “You’ll feel better.”

“No, seriously—I’m fine, thanks,” Peter says, gently but firmly pushing the bottle away.

“Just take a sip,” Tony says, pressing the bottle even closer. 

Peter jerks his head back, eyeing the bottle suspiciously. “What’s going on—are you trying to drug me or something?”

“Am I trying to _what?_ ” Tony asks indignantly. “How on Earth could even suggest I would do such a thing? I’m _deeply_ hurt.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “I’m kidding, jeez. Sorry. You’re just being annoyingly persistent.”

“No, I’m not,” Tony says, shoving the bottle in Peter’s face again. “Now drink this goddamn ginger ale, you stubborn little shit, or I’m gonna get a suit out of the garage and _make_ you drink it.”

“Okay, I was kidding about you drugging me before, but now I’m not so sure. This is wildly suspicious,” Peter says, frowning. “What’s happening? You’re seriously being weirder than usual right now.”

“I’m just trying to help you,” Tony insists. “I’m not being weird. Michelle, am I being weird?"

“This all seems perfectly normal to me,” Michelle replies with a little too much sincerity for it to be completely an act, turning the page on her book.

“See? You’re being paranoid because you’re stressed out and completely exhausted. You look terrible right now, Petey. Your eyes are like two piss-holes in the snow. You need to sleep more. You should drink this, and then go take a nap,” Tony tells Peter, mashing the mouth of the bottle against his tightly sealed lips.

“I am _not_ being paranoid,” Peter says, swatting at Tony’s hand again. “You’re acting like a complete…”

Peter trails off, his eyes focused on a spot somewhere above and behind Tony’s head.

Tony turns around. June is crawling rapidly across the ceiling towards them, a bright smile on her face.

“Dada,” she coos, leaving a trail of sticky hand prints across the ceiling. “Dada, dada.”

Tony turns back around to face Peter, who has gone completely white in the face, his mouth hanging open. Tony exchanges an alarmed glance with Michelle, before making a quick decision.

“You were saying something?” he asks casually, taking advantage of Peter’s lax-jawed shock to attempt to forcibly pour some ginger ale into his mouth. 

“Hm,” Peter says, thwarting Tony by clamping his jaw shut even as he stares wide-eyed up at June, who is now perched directly above his head, happily sucking on her toes. 

“Buddy?” Tony prompts. “Pete? Something wrong?”

Peter tears his gaze away from June and swivels his head back and forth between Michelle and Tony, his eyes wide and round. “I...do you guys…am I just…?”

He points a shaking finger up at June overhead.

Tony looks up, and then back at Peter, maintaining a facade of normalcy. “That spot on the ceiling? Yeah, had a little roof leak. No big deal. It’s fixed. I just haven’t had a chance to touch up the paint.”

“Oh, man,” Peter says, managing to somehow go a shade even paler. “Actually, maybe I am tired. I’m really... _not_ feeling very well. I maybe...hit my head when I slipped on that ice...yeah...I think I should go lie down.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. You’ll feel a lot better after a nap. We’ll grab you when dinner is ready,” Tony says as Peter gets to his feet and starts staggering out of the room, still casting terrified glances up at the ceiling over his shoulder.

“Did you just gaslight my already mentally fragile husband?” Michelle asks as she sets her book down and stands up on the back of the sofa to grab June. “The perverse audacity. Incredible.”

“Listen, as far as morally repugnant things I’ve done go, that really wasn’t that bad,” Tony says, mopping the sweat off his brow with his sleeve. “Case in point—I _was_ actually trying to drug him. I crushed up an entire blister pack of Benadryl and dumped it in that ginger ale. I figured it would help knock him out for a couple of hours, so I can fix our little issue. I’m not proud, but after that close-call I feel justified.”

“Your heart is in the right place, but you’re a monster,” Michelle agrees, getting down from the sofa and balancing June on her hip as she leans over to give him a one-armed hug. 

***

An hour or so later, Tony marches into the house from the garage, a new set of 3-D printed booties and mittens tucked under his arm. The updated models come with a series of sleek buckles instead of velcro straps, and should be enough to defeat even the most dexterous of toddlers.

 _Should_ being the operative word, that annoying little doubt in the back of Tony’s mind reminds him. He smashes it down as he scoops June up out of the play pen in the living room and takes her into the kitchen. He sets her down on the kitchen counter, next to an enormous stack of Christmas cookies Morgan baked that morning.

“Alright, you stinky little nudist,” he tells her, slipping the mittens and booties onto her hands and feet and buckling them securely. “Try to get out of these.”

June squeals with laughter like Tony’s just told the funniest joke, clapping her mittened hands together. Tony starts to perspire under his festive Christmas sweater.

“Don’t actually try to get out of them,” he says. “Please. Have mercy. If your daddy sees you climbing on the ceiling again, it’s gonna break his heart. And that will break papa’s heart. You don’t want to do that, do you? ‘Tis the season, after all—all is calm, all is bright, all that crap?”

June makes a loud, wet farting sound with her mouth in response and reaches for a cookie.

“I’m choosing to take that to mean that we are in accord,” Tony says, handing her the cookie.

***

Two days pass without any more wall-crawling incidents, and Tony gives himself a little pat on the back for a job well done, confident now that he’s worked out all the hiccups and got their chubby little problem successfully contained. He lets himself relax again, surrounded by friends and family and the warm, contented sense that all is right in his little world. 

“Beer?” Tony offers as he rejoins Rhodey and Peter in the living room where they’re watching a football game on the enormous flat screen TV.

Peter shakes his head, refusing the proffered bottle. “No way. I’m not accepting any food or beverage from you ever again. I know you tried to drug me the other day. I don’t trust you.”

“Oh, for crying out loud. I swear on my life that I did not try to drug you,” Tony says, sitting down in one of the armchairs.

“MJ told me you tried to drug me.”

“She did? God, you married a narc,” Tony complains. “I thought she was on my team.”

“Ah-HA,” Peter says, jabbing a finger at Tony. “She didn’t tell me anything. I just said that to catch you in your lie.”

“Alright, so, maybe I did try to slip you a little something sleepy,” Tony admits. “But I promise I only did it with your best interest in mind. You don’t get enough sleep. It isn’t healthy.”

“Oh my god, you are _deranged,_ ” Peter says. “You should be locked up.”

“I don’t disagree with you, Pete, but you two need to make peace with each other and shut it,” Rhodey says, turning the volume up on the TV. “Halftime’s over. The game is back on.”

“Rhodey’s right. Let bygones be bygones. Glad we’re friends again, Petey,” Tony says, blowing Peter a kiss. 

Peter scowls back, but he drops the issue. They watch the game in relative peace after that, aside from a few mostly-friendly arguments over dubiously controversial referee calls. They enjoy a few beers, and then a few more. The afternoon settles into one of those moments of companionable peace that are so fleeting and rare in their lives. Until…

Rhodey quietly clears his throat. “Tony...”

Tony looks over at him. Rhodey jerks his chin up towards the ceiling.

Tony feels a sudden sense of impending doom as he slowly looks up. The dread amplifies tenfold when he spies June crouched on the ceiling in the corner of the room, smiling at him around the fingers—bare, mitten-less fingers—she has jammed in her mouth. 

Morgan steps into the living room a second later, wide-eyed and grimacing.

“ _Sorry,_ ” she silently mouths at Tony, before trying to get June’s attention, frantically waving a hand at her. 

June takes her own hand out of her mouth to wave back, and then starts crawling with purpose in the direction of where Peter sits.

Tony attempts to divert the imminent disaster by doing the first thing that pops into his beer-and-football-soaked brain: he tumbles forward out of his chair and collapses dramatically to the floor, clutching his chest and groaning.

“Oh my god!” Peter says, leaping up and hurrying over to kneel down next to him. “Tony! What’s wrong?”

Tony lets out another loud groan, squeezing his left arm. 

“Oh no,” Rhodey deadpans, flipping the TV to a different football game during the commercial break. “Must be his bad ticker. The damn thing’s finally giving up. So sad.”

“Oh my god, what do I do?” Peter asks, panicking.

“Just leave him to die, kid,” Rhodey replies. “If it’s his time, it’s his time. Lord knows he’s cheated death enough. The bill eventually comes due.”

Tony stops groaning and lifts his head to glare at him. “FRIDAY, note my dying wish—I want my last will and testament altered to remove James Rupert Rhodes.”

“Wow, listen to him,” Rhodey continues dryly. “Running his mouth straight into the grave. Classic Tony till the end. Boy, I’m gonna miss him.”

“What is happening?” Peter asks, starting to cry. “Am I awake? Is this a nightmare? What is going on? _Why_ is everyone being so _weird?_ ”

Tony grimaces, casting a glance over to see that Michelle, Happy, and Pepper have all joined Morgan in attempting to silently lure June away. May joins them a second later, and she comes armed—she’s waving a brightly decorated Christmas cookie, and it looks like June has taken the bait, eagerly crawling after May as she backs out of the room.

“Oh, hey, look at that!” Tony says, sitting up and patting his chest. “I feel fine now. It’s a Christmas miracle, or maybe just some bad gas. Everything’s fine, Pete. Don’t cry.”

“What the hell?” Peter chokes out, still distressed. “Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“Nice work, Tones. You’ve traumatized him,” Rhodey says. “Merry Christmas, here’s another piece of emotional baggage to carry into the new year.”

“I’m gonna traumatize you next,” Tony mutters at him darkly, before grabbing Peter’s heaving shoulders. “Kid, seriously—get a grip. I’m not dying. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You are such an asshole,” Peter says, sniffing. He presses a hand to his own chest. “Now I’m having chest pains for real. I can’t breathe. God, I’m _so_ tired, I can’t even stand it.”

“Okay,” Tony says, hauling Peter to his feet and steering him towards the stairs. “Why don’t you go take a hot shower and try to relax for a minute.”

Tony waits until Peter is out of sight up the stairwell, and then he turns on his heel and marches into the kitchen.

“What the—“ he glances at June, happily gnawing on a cookie in May’s lap—“ _fudge_ is going on here, people? Where are her new mittens?”

“She got out of them,” Happy replies, looking like he’s aged ten years in the last five minutes. “Christ, she’s fast. I think she must have inherited super reflexes or something, too.”

Tony blinks at him, incredulous. “She got out of them? She got _out_ of them?”

“Yes, Mr. Big-Time Genius. She got out of them,” May confirms. “You’ve been outwitted by a baby. Congratulations.”

Tony blinks again, and then points a shaking finger at June. “There are— _demonic_ forces at work here. That’s the _only_ explanation.”

“Tony, you’re being ridiculous again,” Pepper warns, softening the words with a kiss to his cheek. She hands him a cookie in the shape of a stocking. “Here, have a cookie, and then go figure this out. Just like you _always_ do.”

Tony takes a few deep, hard breaths. He looks at the cookie, an idea taking form. 

“Right,” he says, taking a savage bite from it. “I got this. You’re in for it now, June Benjamin Jones.”

June smiles beatifically, her little face smeared with red and green frosting. She reaches for him.

“Kiss,” she demands, pursing little lips covered in cookie crumbs and drool.

Tony’s indignation melts away.

“I am your humble servant always and forever, my terrible spider goblin queen,” he tells her, bending down to hold his face close to hers so that she can plant a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek, leaving damp crumbs in his beard.

***

“I’ve solved it this time,” Tony says when he emerges from the garage an hour later with his latest anti-wall-crawling invention, looking a little rumpled and wild-eyed. He’s abandoned the failed booties and mittens completely and instead crafted a full toddler bodysuit that will completely encase June from the neck down. He holds it up. “The locking mechanism is in the back. There is absolutely _zero_ chance she’s getting out of this.”

Michelle takes it, examining the pattern on it. “Are these little Iron Men wearing Santa hats?”

“Well, yeah. I still wanted it to be cute and seasonably appropriate. We’re gonna be taking a ton of photos of her opening presents tomorrow morning. You think I’m gonna put my baby girl in some ugly jumpsuit?”

Michelle looks from the suit to Tony and back again, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m not gonna answer that,” she says diplomatically. “Aesthetic judgment is subjective. I do wonder, though—have you ever thought to yourself, yeah, maybe this is just a _little_ too much?”

“Not once in my life have I ever thought that.”

“Sounds about right,” Michelle says, kneeling down and putting the suit on June. She looks at the baby for a moment while June happily wriggles around on the floor, and then she stands up and hugs Tony tight around the neck.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Oh, hey, no problem,” Tony replies, returning the embrace. “I just want that little squirt to be safe.”

“It’s not just that,” Michelle says, squeezing him harder. “I know you don’t like to lie to Peter—”

“Doesn’t bother me at all, actually,” Tony interjects, “but it’s sweet, the way you think I’m a good person despite all the evidence to the contrary.”

“But I know you’ve put a lot of thought and energy into making sure that he enjoys this holiday,” Michelle continues, ignoring him. “This is the first time in like, _years_ that Peter’s had a chance to relax and enjoy himself and…just _breathe_. So thank you.” 

“Well, you know, I’ve put a lot of time and effort and money into mentoring that kid and making sure he gets a good education,” Tony says. “If he drops dead of stress before Stark Industries can fully exploit his talent and genius for tremendous corporate profits, then that all goes down the drain. So really this is just greedy self-interest. That’s all.”

Michelle lets him go, offering him a knowing smile. “Yeah, sure—that’s all.”

***

Tony gets up very early on Christmas morning, while everyone else is still soundly asleep, just to put the finishing touches on everything. It is, if he is allowed to say so himself, about as close to perfect as a guy could hope for. There is a sense of completeness that he hadn't even realized was missing from past holidays, now that Junie is around.

“You are completely insane,” Peter tells him when he comes downstairs with June and sees the veritable mountain of gifts for her piled under and around the tree. “We don’t even room in our apartment for all this stuff.”

“You can keep some of it at my place.”

“You have too many toys at your place already. That’s gonna be how you die,” Peter says, peering through the viewfinder on his camera as he snaps picture after picture of June climbing over brightly wrapped boxes. “Iron Man trips over baby toy, breaks his neck.” 

“Sounds like a good way to go out to me,” Tony replies as he picks June up. “Get some photos of us together.”

The rest of the day passes in a flurry of torn wrapping paper and photography and dozy sessions spent in front of the TV watching basketball while the turkey cooks. June clambers around on the floor, decked out in her Iron Man anti-climbing suit, ignoring her many new toys in favor of playing in the empty boxes they’d been wrapped in.

Tony’s feeling pretty satisfied with it all as they gather around the dining room table for dinner.

“Gorgeous bird, Hap. Job well done,” Tony says, applauding as Happy carves the turkey. “Good to know those cooking lessons I bought last year for May paid off somewhere,” he adds, dodging the vicious swat May directs at him.

“Glass houses, pal. There’s a reason everyone asked Happy to roast the turkey instead of you,” she says pointedly, accepting the glass of wine he hands her as a peace offering.

Tony is still basking in that sense of satisfaction as serving bowls are passed around and plates are filled. He’s just handed the green bean casserole to Morgan when Pepper suddenly grabs his knee under the table. Tony looks over at her and sees that she’s gazing upwards, a faintly alarmed expression on her face. Dread blooms in the pit of his stomach as he raises his own eyes up.

June is on the ceiling again, stark naked and grinning.

Tony stares at her, shaking his head in total disbelief. He looks under the table and spies her little suit lying in a heap next to her discarded diaper.

“Hm,” he says, completely defeated. He’s faced down terrorists and murderous robots and genocidal god-like aliens, but he sees now that he has been laid low by his greatest adversary yet—a plump, determined, very sticky toddler.

Upside-down, June rears back on her chubby little haunches and sticks her bare round belly out, joyfully slapping it.

“Belly,” she announces gleefully.

The rest of the table immediately falls silent as everyone’s attention turns towards the the naked cherubic toddler crouched on the ceiling. Everyone except Tony, who turns towards Peter instead.

Peter is staring up at June with enormous round eyes, his face ashen with shock.

“Pete...” Tony tries. 

Peter makes a little strangled sound.

“This is a hallucination, right?” he murmurs numbly. “Please tell me this is a hallucination...this is just...a bad concussion, or...”

“Peter,” Tony tries again, reaching out to grasp Peter’s arm, but June’s ceased her literal navel gazing and turned her attention to Peter now, too.

“Dada,” she says, enthusiastically crawling across the ceiling towards him, her curls bouncing. She stops right over his head, tilting her own face back to smile down at him. Then she carefully unfurls herself from the ceiling, dangling upside down by her feet and stretching herself out.

“Kiss,” she says, reaching her arms down towards Peter. Then she’s falling, plummeting straight towards the table below.

Pepper lets out a startled gasp, her grip on Tony’s knee becoming painfully tight, while May and Happy both shout out in warning and everyone leans forward with arms outstretched in an attempt to arrest June’s fall, knocking over bowls and glasses and spilling wine all over the tablecloth.

Tony lunges up to grab her, but Peter is faster, lightning quick reflexes responding despite his shock. He catches her, right before she lands headfirst in the bowl of mashed potatoes.

For a long moment, no one moves or says anything, everyone collectively holding their breath. 

Peter carefully turns June right-side up, looking at her blankly. She smiles back at him, cooing sweetly. A heartbroken expression flickers across Peter’s face, before his features settle back into a kind of forced neutrality.

“Pete. Buddy,” Tony says eventually, breaking the tension swallowing up the table. “I know this is a bit of a shock, but it’s really not that big of a deal. Right?”

“Hm,” Peter says, nodding. He calmly hands June over to Michelle. Then he pushes his chair back and stands up, clearing his throat. “Right. Would you all please excuse me for a second?”

The silence returns as they watch him leave the dining room, disappearing up the stairs.

Rhodey breaks the quiet first.

“I thought you said you had this completely under control,” he says to Tony.

“Well,” Tony says, grimacing. “It wouldn’t be the first time I was horribly wrong about something.”

“I should probably go check on him,” Michelle says, starting to hand June over to May.

But Tony stops her, pushing his own chair back and getting to his feet. “Let me handle this. Properly, this time. You know—father to father.”

Michelle offers him an understanding little smile, nodding.

Tony makes his way upstairs, heading straight down the hallway to the bathroom where he knows he’ll find Peter. He raps his knuckles against the closed door.

“Pete, kid—come out and let’s talk.”

“Do you mind?” comes Peter’s muffled reply. “I’m in the bathroom, doing bathroom things. I know you have zero respect for personal boundaries, but I need you to go away. I can’t do what I’m doing in here while you’re lurking right outside the door. I have a shy—everything.”

“Pete. I know you’re in there crying in the bathtub.”

“No, I’m not,” Peter insists with an loud sniff. “I haven’t done that in like…four whole days. I’m fine.” 

“I’m coming in,” Tony says, grabbing the door knob. “FRI, unlock the door.”

The lock clicks back and Tony slips into the bathroom, ignoring Peter’s protests.

“You never respect my privacy,” Peter says, glaring at Tony through red-rimmed eyes from where he sits in the bathtub. “Can’t a guy sit in a bathtub and cry about ruining his child’s life in peace?”

“Come on. You didn’t ruin your child’s life,” Tony says, perching himself on the edge of the tub.

Peter blinks at him, incredulous. “Uh, hello? Did you not just see my daughter crawling across the ceiling, like...like—”

“Like a very happy, very loved toddler delighting in her newfound abilities and freedom?” Tony says. “Yeah, I did. I’ve seen it several times now. And it’s...alarming, yes. And a touch stressful. And wonderful and exciting. It’s just...a part of her now, same as it’s a part of you. And there’s nothing we can do except accept it for all that it is.”

Peter nods, taking a shaky breath.

“I know. I do. I just...I really wanted her to have a normal life. I mean, as close to it as she could get with me for a father. It's just...I was _fourteen_ when I started out. My friends were going to parties and movies and just—just being _kids,_ and I was getting shot at by drug dealers and beamed up into alien spaceships. I missed out on a lot of stuff because I was doing this. And I’m not complaining for myself, I don’t have regrets, or—it is what it is, that’s all. But I don’t want her to look at me and think she has to do it, too, just because of some stupid genetic fluke. I don’t want her to be like…like… _this,_ ” he says, gesturing broadly at himself. “You know? Just…always beat to shit and tired as hell and…crying in a bathtub on Christmas.”

“Who says she has to be like that? Maybe she’ll, I don’t know—join Cirque du Soleil, put those wall-crawling abilities to use bringing some joy and entertainment to people. Maybe she’ll be nurse or help run charities like her great aunt, or maybe she’ll become a dedicated public defender like her mom. There are a lot of ways she can be a good, productive member of society and help other people that don’t involve dodging bullets,” Tony says. “Or maybe she _will_ decide she wants to put on a spandex onesie like dear old dad and punch the living daylights out of armed robbers. And it’ll terrify you, you’ll sleep even worse than you already do now, but you’ll be so damn proud of her, too. Trust me. I speak from a place of experience.”

Peter nods again, wiping at his cheeks and giving Tony a tight smile. “This does kinda feel a little like payback. I’m feeling a lot of empathy for you right now, and I’m not sure I like it.”

“God, I’d hoped to live long enough to hear you say that,” Tony says, returning the smile. “I can die happy and satisfied now.”

He pushes himself up to his feet and offers Peter a hand. “Come on. Come back downstairs before everyone else eats all the best parts of the turkey.”

***

The rest of dinner passes in peace. They bribe June to stay grounded with more Christmas cookies, but once the last plate is put away in the dishwasher, she is finally given free rein.

Liberated at last from her restraints, June immediately climbs up the wall and across the living room ceiling, intent on grabbing the star from the top of the Christmas tree. She dangles upside down, giggling as she bats at it.

“Wow,” Peter says, a little smile starting to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Look at her go. She’s a natural.”

“She sure is,” Tony agrees. “She’s really gonna take advantage of that when she’s a teenager trying to sneak out of the house at night.”

Peter’s face instantly falls. “Oh god.”

“I’m kidding,” Tony says, patting Peter’s shoulder. “Maybe. But the bumps are just part of the ride, kid. You just gotta hang on tight and enjoy it. You’ll be fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Giant S/O to FerretShark for coming up with the title when I was stuck. Much appreciation friend <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://groo-ock.tumblr.com/)


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